


Worth Everything

by bunbunjolras



Series: Noodle Boyfriends [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, also noodles, unbearable cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:03:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunbunjolras/pseuds/bunbunjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It turns out that there is something Enjolras is bad at, but he makes up for it in other ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth Everything

They were two months into their relationship the next time Grantaire discovered another surprising truth about Enjolras. Sure, he was beautiful, stunning, elegant, well dressed, kind, funny, smart, passionate, sexy, especially when he did that thing with his tongue - not the point. The point was, Grantaire had discovered something that Enjolras wasn’t good at. A skill set that the universe hadn't decided Enjolras should be blessed with.

He knocked on the door to his apartment for a good few minutes with no answer before he twisted the doorknob and found it open, and snuck inside hoping to get the drop on his boyfriend.

Unfortunately, he was only a few steps inside before he was choking on the thick, acrid smoke that filled the room. It smelled like burnt onions and melting plastic, as well as more than a little like singed hair. 

"Enjolras?" he called, covering his nose with his hand to keep at least a little of the smoke out. "Enjolras, are you in here?"

"Grantaire?" he called back. "I’m in the kitchen!"

There was a loud sizzle of water and a cry and Grantaire almost scrambled into the kitchen to find Enjolras, a smouldering pan filled with an indescribably smelly black mess in one hand, leaning across the sink to push the window open as far as it would go. He dropped the pan into the water on top of another, and it sizzled loudly for a moment. The smoke was beginning to filter out of the window and the air began to clear quickly.

"What on earth were you doing in here?" he asked, pulling Enjolras away from the sink. His face was dirty and sweaty, and there was a small burn right in the middle of his deep blue shirt, through which Grantaire could see Enjolras’ pale belly. Grantaire took the opportunity to wriggled his finger through it, stopping just shy if tickling Enjolras' skin and causing a giggle-fit in his boyfriend.

"I was trying to cook," Enjolras croaked, and Grantaire wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him close. Enjolras buried his face in his boyfriend’s messy black hair and let out a pathetic whine. "I just wanted to make some dinner for you. Your texts made me sad, it seemed like you had a hard day."

Grantaire chuckled and looked up at the blond, grinning widely.

"What?" Enjolras sniffled. "What are you laughing at?"

"You, Enjolras, perfect angel sent from the heavens to make us mere mortals seem insignificant by comparison - "

"Grantaire, that’s not - "

"Are actually not good at something? Well, I never,” he laughed. “You are a human being, after all. And a sweet one at that. I had a bad day but you didn't need to do this. I'm totally fine as long as you're there to give me smooches and pet my hair when I come see you.”

Enjolras pouted and Grantaire smirked, stretching up on the tips of his toes to press a kiss to the end of his nose. “Fine,” Enjolras sighed. “I can’t cook, so what?”

"Go sit down, idiot," Grantaire laughed. "I’ll make us some noodles."

He fetched a pan and a couple of the packs of noodles he'd stashed away up in one of the cupboards and set about boiling some water. It didn't take him long to realise that Enjolras was not, in fact, sitting down and was instead lingering almost anxiously by the doorway. Making sure his pan of water wouldn't some how spontaneously go up in flames due to Enjolras' proximity, he turned and beckoned his boyfriend closer, wrapping his arms securely around the blond's torso and burrowing his face in his chest as Enjolras nuzzled into his hair, dropping kisses onto his curls. 

“I had an awful day” he mumbled eventually, gripping Enjolras' shirt tightly, his fingers bunching up the fabric. “Someone dropped their brush water on my final project and I'm going to have to start again.” He'd spent hours on that piece already, a huge, incredibly detailed rendition of a 19th century Parisian rebellion for which he'd taken great care to research clothing styles and weaponry, and it had been ruined, the canvas warped and some of the newer paint washed out, in just a moment of clumsiness, and he couldn't really afford the new paints and a new canvas, not right now. “What do I do now?”

Enjolras didn't answer right away, but carried on peppering him with kisses slowly before leaning down quite a way to catch his lips and kiss him slowly, thoroughly. “I'm so sorry,” he murmured. 

“It's not your fault,” Grantaire sighed, and buried his face back into Enjolras' shirt, sniffling slightly. “I just thought I'd done something good for once in my wretched life and it got ruined.”

“You do a whole lot of good things,” Enjolras whispered, and Grantaire smiled a little before turning away to turn the heat beneath the pan of boiling water down a little before emptying the powder sachets into the water and then adding the noodles. Slender fingers slide around his waist and Enjolras pressed up behind him gently, kissing behind his ear and holding him close. 

“You're my good thing,” Grantaire told him in a low, uncertain voice. “I make a lot of shit decisions and I'm not worth much, but...you're the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

Enjolras sighed and loosened his grip on Grantaire's waist and coaxed him into turning around to look up at him. 

“I'm going to tell you something now and I don't want you to ever, ever forget it. Okay?” he asked, and Grantaire nodded silently. “I know you may not believe it but you are the most amazing person I've ever met. You're so smart, and kind, and compassionate, and one hell of an artist. I just wish I could show you how amazing you are, and tell you in some other way than with my limited vocabulary how you make me feel, but I can't, right now. So just...please, believe me when I say that you are worth everything. To me, you're worth everything.”

Grantaire clung to Enjolras and sniffed, his face buried in the charred portion of his shirt, and for a moment they stood in the middle of Enjolras' still smoky kitchen entwined with one another before Grantaire extricated himself to move the noodles off the heat. It was slow going for the two of them to fill bowls with noodles and butter up bread, as unwilling as they were to stop touching one another, but eventually they made it through to the front room and onto the sofa, Enjolras stretching his body out along the cushions, his feet hanging off the end, with Grantaire stretched out on top of him with his head tucked up under Enjolras' chin. That was how Grantaire fell asleep that evening, wrapped up in his boyfriend's arms, still smelling of smoke but not particularly caring about it, and Enjolras pressed kisses into his hair and murmured praise and devotion into his hair as he ordered a new set of paints and a new canvas to be delivered the next day.


End file.
